Steele Going At It
by RSteele82
Summary: (ItCHY Story) Written at the request of MM33, with just the right note for Elinskaja, for it was always a possibility. Takes place directly after Have I Got a Steele For You. The Thaw has begun, and Laura is anxious that they no longer find themselves stuck in place. How will she address the things Remington said to her in Cannes? Pure romance, lots of sensuality.
1. Chapter 1: The Thaw

Chapter 1: The Thaw

Laura Holt stood up behind her desk and wiped uncharacteristically sweaty palms against her skirt, then took a slow, deep breath, trying to calm her rampaging nerves. Four nights ago, she and Mr. Steele had crossed the great divide, otherwise known as her decision in Cannes that they would no longer see one another outside of work and 'the thaw', as he'd referenced the resumption of their personal relationship, had begun.

He'd been battered that night, severely, by Buckner's men. Enough so, that she'd had to resist the urge to nag at him until he took a trip to the emergency room… had resisted the urge to take him in her arms, draw his head down to her shoulder and comfort him. Instead, she'd played nurse, wrapping his ribs and wincing at the memory of watching him being beat by two goons while she'd been held, helpless, in another goon's locked arms. The experience, the memories, had been enough to leave her shaken, and, once again, questioning that possibly hasty, injury and anger fueled decision in Cannes.

The idea of losing him was… inconceivable. For two-and-a-half years many of her decisions about their personal relationship had been grounded in her fear of waking one day and finding him gone, but by his own choice, the siren call of the past luring him away from this life he'd begun to build for himself. From her. Yet, every now and then, she'd be reminded there was more than one way to find him gone, and not of his own choice, but at the hands of the Buckner, Chandler, Simpson and DesCoine's of the world. It was bad enough to be left picking up the pieces after the first, but the thought of the latter? Inevitably, she'd be reduced to trying to conceal tremoring hands as her heart beat hard against her ribs. She'd be left with a lifetime of regrets, never knowing what it would be like to make love with him, never knowing if they'd just let their wall downs, what might have been.

She'd… missed him. It was as simple as that. Their relationship, as bizarre and undefined as it might be, was the longest, singular relationship of her life – even her time with Wilson had run its course in considerably less time. Until her Cannes resolution, she hadn't realized what a large place in her life he'd come to fill, since only shortly after his arrival. They'd essentially lived in one another's pockets for more than two years now, working with one another throughout the day, then during the evenings nurturing their burgeoning romance and speaking every night before bed. And on weekend days when they weren't together? He'd often call a couple of times a day, just checking in with her, he'd say, never admitting, but she always knowing, he needed that connection with her in some way each day.

Twice, in the days right after his beating, she'd kept her promise and worked him over with Ben Gay. There had been nothing sexual, whatsoever, about those rub downs, modestly confined to above his waist, but it hadn't mattered in the least as her blood was left humming, her nerve ends vibrating, from the prolonged time her hands had spent against his flesh. Together or not, she'd never stopped wanting the man, had from the very beginning. No, her attraction to him had never been the issue.

It had been… _everything_ … else. Her fears, her insecurities, her life lessons. But it had not been wholly herself. There were his own fears, his own insecurities, _his_ life lessons to contend with as well. Neither of them quite prepared to face the unknown future that loomed after that 'magical moment.'

She didn't want to remain frozen in place any longer. She didn't want to keep holding him at arm's length. She didn't want to live a lifetime with 'what-if's', regrets.

Still, the thought… terrified her.

In Cannes, she'd finally found a confidence that had long since fled. Two weeks in Europe with her Mr. Steele had seen to that. Two weeks filled with one European city after the next, being courted – that was the only word for it – by the man whom had long ago stolen her heart, like the thief he'd once been. Back in his old stomping grounds, he'd never even so much as cast a wistful look towards the life he'd once lived, had shown not a single sign he wondered what might be, should he return. His focus had been entirely on her. Long walks, personalized tours, evenings dancing and him, always front and center at each of her Glee Club performances. It had been romantic… seductive. And that he was there with her on this tour for no other reason than to support her? Well, that alone had gone a long way towards shoring up her confidence, deafening her insecurities.

Then it had all… unraveled, leaving her questioning… _everything._ And that long missing self-confidence she'd found in those days? Gone. Vanished. Fled, once more.

Still, she'd already taken one bold step towards moving forward. It was time to take another- to find out, once and for all, if crossing the line would mean a new beginning… or an end.

The thought of the latter made her draw in a deep breath and she patted her stomach absently, trying to calm the butterflies that had suddenly erupted there.

Tipping her chin up a notch, she steeled herself while she reached for the door knob to Remington's door.


	2. Chapter 2: Not Another Assignation

Chapter 2: Not Another Assignation

Remington leaned on an arm propped against his bathroom counter, and rubbed his face with his free hand, while regarding his image in the mirror.

Laura had shocked him that afternoon. She'd appeared in his office, all business at first, then had eventually led up to their plans for the weekend: Dinner that evening, golf and dinner on Saturday, and a trip to the Venice pier where she might indulge her craving for cotton candy on Sunday, followed by a lazy afternoon of movies and wine at his place. He'd watched, avidly, as she'd paced his office floor, wringing her hands, while he waited her out, fretting about what might be on her mind. Had his little escapade with Buckner's car been a step too far? Had her decision to resume their personal relationship been nothing more than a reaction to watching his assault? Without realizing it, he lifted a thumb to his mouth, gnawing at a nail, his eyes never leaving her.

"I've been thinking…" _Something which rarely bodes well for me,_ he thought to himself, "…about what you said in Cannes." Not for the first time, he damned to perdition the time they'd spent in the South of France and the decisions he'd made while there. He slowly rose to his feet, and walked around the desk to lean his backside against it, as she continued to pace the room.

"It seems to me a great many things were said in the South of France, most of which I'd prefer to forget," he prodded, flinching inwardly at his entirely too glib tongue. She turned to face him, rubbing at her arms as she did so.

"About… giving you no input on…" her skin heated, much to her mortification "…consummating our relationship."

* * *

" _ **I mean, take last night, for instance."**_

 _ **"What about last night?"**_

 _ **"It was typical Laura Holt. You decided, without discussion, that we were finally going to consummate our relationship."**_

 _ **"Well, isn't that what you wanted?"**_

 _ **"Yes, but I'd like to have some small say in the matter."**_

* * *

 _Bloody hell._ In a rare showing for the two of them, they hadn't taken care the least bit of care with their words, saying whatever it was on their mind, much of it blatantly honest, some of it unkind. Of all the things he'd spent a great deal of time regretting, he'd forgotten this particular detail. Foolishness by half on his part, as he should have known she'd ruminate on the accusation, dissecting it piece-by-piece. Now, he could only wonder how much part in her decision those words had played.

"Laura—"

"I don't want us… frozen in place, again," she continued as though he'd never spoken, rubbing at her arms again. "I want us… to move forward." He swallowed hard at the words, trying not to read too much into them, but finding it difficult not to. Gaining his feet, he approached her when she stilled.

"As do I..." He ducked his head, trying to make eye contact. She averted her head and paced away, leaving him staring at her back and rubbing at his face with uncertainty.

"I was thinking—" she stopped with a shake of her head, determined to choose her words carefully. Resolutely, she tightened her arms around herself, and turned to face him. "I was wondering," she gesticulated with a hand, "Since we're spending most of the weekend together anyway," her hand returned to her arm, her fingers clutching it, "If you'd like to stay at my place tonight." Heat suffused her skin again, as she was left feeling like a teenaged-virgin asking her boyfriend to come over for the weekend while her parents were out of town. He eased cautiously towards, lest she skitter away again. Cupping her face in his hands when he reached her, he drew her lips up to his, brushing them with his in a featherlight kiss.

"I would like that," he answered, quietly. "I would like that very much." He kissed her again for good measure, then embraced her. "I'll pick you up for dinner," he added when he felt her relax slightly against him.

Which is how he'd ended up here in his bathroom, packing his grooming bag. With a final rub at his mouth, he zipped the shave kit close and walked into his bedroom. Tossing the kit into his overnight bag, his eyes fell upon the small, brown paper bag which still awaited packing. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he drew his hands through his hair as he recalled his trip to the local pharmacy. He'd felt utterly ridiculous, like a lad in knickers making his first purchase of condoms. He, the man who'd bedded more women than he could recall, who'd made similar purchases innumerable times, reduced to a bundle of nerves in that simple act. Unheard of for any other assignation.

 _But this isn't any other assignation, is it, Steele, old sport,_ he questioned himself.

This was Laura. The woman who'd captivated him from the moment their eyes had first met in what was now his office. The woman who'd inexplicably made him leave behind his quest for the Royal Lavulite, some instinct telling him he'd found something of infinite more value. The woman whose fiery temper simultaneously vexed, challenged and amused him. The woman who, from the start, had looked past his appearance and mannerisms, to the man lurking beneath all the personas. The woman for whom - despite all her frustrating fears, doubts and inhibitions - somewhere along the way, this man had fallen hard for…

The same man who'd fought hard to earn this life that was now his.

The same man who knew he'd be unable to keep his heart from her once he knew all of her and was terrified she wouldn't find it worthy enough to keep.

Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly as he stood. Picking up the brown bag, he tossed it in his overnight case.

 _No, this is not any other assignation, at all._


	3. Chapter 3: The Morning After

Chapter 3: The Morning After

Remington knew the moment Laura woke, feeling the stiffening of her slight frame against him. Intentionally, he nuzzled her head with his chin 'in his sleep,' and felt her draw in a swift breath, although the tension in her body remained. He continued to feign sleep as she carefully extricated herself from his embrace, then sat up and retrieved the shirt he'd abandoned the evening before from the floor. Only after shrugging it on, did she stand, shielding herself from his view, lest he be awake, he knew. A few minutes later, he rolled to his back, after he heard the 'snick' of the bathroom door closing, followed by the pelting of water against the tiled, shower floor.

Their first attempt at making love had been, well, an unmitigated disaster. Never in a million years had he, the connoisseur of women, a man who liked to believe himself a skilled, giving lover, anticipated that he'd be reduced to a quivering, clumsy mass of nerves. But he had been, from their first kiss when their teeth had clashed, to his fumbling attempts to loosen the buttons of her blouse, to his last, awkward thrust as he'd buried himself in her body when he'd found his climax. And she never had.

A fact he found utterly unacceptable.

Worse, as his frustration with himself had grown, so had Laura's tension, whatever it was she'd found within herself to allow the moment to happen, quickly fading away. He'd seen the look of misery in her brown eyes as he'd separated their joined bodies, that she'd tried to cover fast enough, with a smile and a brush of her fingertips down his arm before rolling to her side to sleep. But it had been too late, for he'd already seen.

And he couldn't disagree with the feelings reflected in her eyes. For years he dreamt of any number of ways he'd leave her a quivering mass of feminine flesh, their bodies at last merging as one as they surrendered to the need heating their blood, making their hearts pound. Instead, they'd surrendered to the awkwardness of it all, never finding a compatible rhythm. A rhythm, it could be argued, that was as natural as breathing in other aspects of their relationship.

Hearing the rattle of the bathroom door knob, he rolled over to lay on his stomach. Only when he heard the kitchen faucet come on did he slip out of bed. Silently as a cat, he crossed the room, removing his robe from his overnight bag and pulling it on, before taking a change of clothing and his shaving kit and retiring to the bathroom to shower.

He needed to clear his head. He needed to figure out how to make things right between them, before it was entirely too late.


	4. Chapter 4: No More Than Friends

Chapter 4: Never More Than Friends

Laura clutched the cup of freshly brewed coffee in her hands and waited for the whistle on the tea kettle to blow. She'd watched through a corner of her eye as Remington had quietly made his way to the bathroom, closing himself off behind the door much as she had done not long before. She supposed she should have been crestfallen at his obvious avoidance. But, in truth, she was relieved that she'd have the opportunity to get some caffeine coursing her through her blood stream before any polite 'morning after' chatter would be required of her.

Morning after chatter. She snorted a quiet, dismissive laugh. If there was anything she could think of that could possibly be worse than their dismal attempt at going to bed together the night before, it was the very idea of discussing the disastrous encounter. And it had been exactly that: disastrous.

Even worse, it had been all that she'd ever feared it could be. She'd been unable to rise to his expectations. How could she with her limited black book? She had neither his experience, nor the experience of the women that he normally canoodled with.

At the tea kettle's whistle, she turned and poured the boiling water over the Earl Grey tea bag waiting in a mug next to the stove, then took a seat at the counter before she returned to her thoughts.

From the first moment their teeth had clashed when they'd kissed, she'd been unable to relax, her tension only increasing proportionate to the frustration she saw on his face, in his eyes. She'd finally decided to put them both out of their mutual misery, using the touch of her hands and mouth to bring him to climax. When he'd been left shuddering in her arms, breathing her name into her shoulder, her only thought had been 'Thank God.' He hadn't even had a chance to remove the condom, before she'd rolled to her side, feigning the need for sleep.

Sleep. Ha! That certainly had been neither quick to arrive nor long to stay, for she'd have gotten down on her knees and praised its blessed reprieve. She'd dozed in fits and starts throughout the night, tension filling her body each time she awakened, fully expecting him to find She'd been awkward, inept, and undoubtedly the biggest disappointment of his extensive dalliances. In truth, she might have to lean to except they'd never be more than close friends, as she was fairly certain any attraction he felt for he previously had been easily laid to rest, quite permanently, the night before.

The only question was, how would he excuse himself from their personal involvement, for she didn't-

She was startled from her thoughts when a pair of firm hands landed on her shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze, before Remington's lips brushed her cheek.

"There's a cup of tea steeping for you on the counter," she told him, by way of greeting, then smothered a groan when she noted his attire: Chinos and a polo shirt. Clearly, he was intent on following through on their plans for a round of golf. "If you have something else you'd rather do this morning, our plans aren't exactly written in stone…" Plastering a smile on his face, he turned to face her.

"Why ever would I wish to change our plans?" Her eyes narrowed on him, and seeing the challenge in his own eyes that they confront the matter at hand, her eyes skittered away.

"Alright. Then I'll just go get ready, so we don't miss our tee time."

Over the rim of his cup, he watched her back as she retreated to her bedroom. He'd acknowledged three simple facts while he'd showered: First, until last night was made right, Laura would run the first chance she got. Second, once she started running this time, it would take the hounds of hell in her path to make her turn around again. And, third, they'd both succumbed to the pressures of a command performance last evening. They'd had far too much time to dwell on their fears, the possibilities. It was a recipe for disaster from the start. What they'd needed was a slow seduction.

And he intended to see to it they got precisely that.

(TBC)


	5. Chapter 5: Return to State

Chapter 5: Return to state

It had taken the drive to the Club, and six holes before Remington was fairly confident Laura wasn't trying to contrive a reason to cut short their plans for the day, to invent a reason to hide away from him. The comfort of that realization allowed him to finally relax, and once he had, those guileless touches that had been ever-present during their association returned, quite on their own, which, in turn, served to soothe Laura, allowing the tension to leave her shoulders while vanquishing the strain around her eyes. By the time they'd completed the eighteenth hole, the easy camaraderie that had characterized the finest days of their relationship had reasserted itself, and their casual banter was easily restored.

Enough so that he gave no thought to reaching for her hand as they walked from the pro shop to the club, where they'd planned to share a late lunch. But it was when she'd intuitively weaved their fingers together that he made a hopeful decision to change their plans for the remainder of the afternoon.

"Laura…"

"Yes?"

"What's say we forgo lunch at the club and eat at the Pier instead." She turned her face towards him, while giving her head a quizzical tilt.

"But you hate the food at the Pier."

"Hate is such a strong word. There was a time in my life that a _hot dog_ ," he said the word with a touch snobbish disdain, "Would have been a most welcome feast. Yes, my palate has refined since, but that doesn't prevent me from appreciating simple fare." He stopped walking and tuned to face her. "Or, more specifically, enjoying watching someone…' he lifted their joined hands to press a kiss to her knuckles, while holding her eyes with his own, "…as she derives a great deal of… pleasure… from it."

Blush suffusing her cheeks, she agreed to the change in plans. They dined on hot dogs and frenh fries, then took a long, leisurely stroll along the beach, before returning to the pier so that she might indulge her love of air-spun cotton. As she plucked pieces of the sticky treat off the cone, they walked the length of the pier, stopping at the end to enjoy the view as the sun began to sink beneath the horizon

He surprised her when, instead of leaning against the rail next to her as he normally would, he stepped behind her, and braced himself against one arm, his hand pressed against the railing next to hers, while embracing her slim frame with his other. She instinctively took a short step backwards, and stroking a hand down his arm, lay her right hand over his, where it rested against her stomach, her eyes still firmly on the horizon as the sun lit the sky red, pink and orange, as though it were setting the water afire.

"The view is beautiful," she murmured.

"Stunning," he observed, although he was referring not, in the least, to the sunset. Shifting slightly, a pair of fingers turned her chin, then tipped it up. She watched as his lips descended then pressed against hers, their eyes meeting when their lips parted, only for both pairs to close as he leaned in again. His lips settled over hers, teasing, tasting, he humming low in his throat when a touch of the tip of his tongue to her lower lip had her parting willingly for him. His tongue traced the back of her teeth, before settling in to stroke, taste, dance with hers. He ended the kiss with two whispering brushes of his lips against hers. Enfolding her in his embrace again, she nuzzled her head against his shoulder, her hand returning to rest atop his.

"Come back to my flat with me," he suggested quietly, while giving her waist a squeeze. He felt her almost imperceptibly stiffen against him, and ran a firm, soothing hand up and down her arm. "I'll toss us together a bite to eat, then, after, perhaps a bit of champagne before the fire. Hmmmmm?" His own nerves threatened as he awaited her answer.

"Alright," she finally agreed, elongating the word, unintentionally revealing her reluctance.

Hesitant or not, he'd take it, because unless he managed to get her behind the same closed door as he, he'd not a chance of making things right between them.


	6. Chapter 6: Columns

Chapter 6: Columns

Laura had no illusions the evening wouldn't end in sex, and grew more tense as the evening wore on. She had to give Remington credit, as he did his utmost to help her relax, keeping conversation light, impersonal, as they dined, even reaching across the table several times to clasp her hand in his, stroking her palm with a thumb. She tried, she really did, to calm her tattered nerves, but much like the night before, she only grew more anxious. She escaped to the living room after dinner was over and the kitchen was cleaned, while Remington uncorked the champagne and poured them each a glass in the kitchen. Emerging, he found her perched on the edge of the couch, hands shoved between her knees, and unconsciously rocking.

His gut clenched at the sight. Setting the champagne flutes on the coffee table, he pried her hands from between her knees and urged her to her feet.

"Come. Sit with me," he requested softly. Sitting on the floor his back pressed against the end of the couch and facing the fire, he eased her down to sit between his legs. His hands settled on her shoulders, seeking out the tension there. A quick, sharp intake of breath told him he'd found a tender spot, and he concentrated his touch there. "I don't imagine either of us would argue last night failed to live up to our expectations… perhaps, our fantasies, even. Hmmm?" he suggested. She snorted her agreement, but said nothing in answer. "Why do you think that is?" Tensing further, she crossed her arms around her body and turned her head to stare at the wall.

"I don't know," she answered, tightly.

"I think we've spent so much time worrying over, avoiding… anticipating… consummating this relationship, that it's no wonder our nerves got the better of us, hmmm?" She sat up a little straighter at the admission.

" _You_ were nervous?" He chuckled low in his throat.

"More so than my first time." That little tidbit of information piqued her interest, as he knew it would and offered her a temporary escape from the conversation he was trying to initiate.

"How old were you?" she ventured to ask.

"Thirteen or thereabouts. Old enough to understand the… mechanics, the need to protect against an unwanted pregnancy," he answered, matter of fact, before adding, thoughtfully, "Too young in all the ways that mattered, I suppose."

"First love?" she wondered aloud. He laughed a wry laugh at the question.

"Nothing so noble as that, Laura," he admitted. "Survival." Her stomach clenched at the implications.

"You mean—"

"No. I never resorted to selling myself as so many do." She relaxed under his hands. "But as I grew into my skin, girls, women, made it clear they found me… attractive. It didn't take long to realize an enjoyable shag meant a warm bed, perhaps a decent meal." She bit her lip to keep the impulse to apologize for life's cruelties from passing her lips. "You? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

"Nineteen. My Sophomore year at Stanford."

"First love?" he echoed her earlier question back at her, drawing a soft laugh from her. She barely noticed when he tugged her shirt out from beneath the waistband of her slacks. His hands glided over the smooth silk of her teddy, before settling on the bare skin below her shoulders to search for more knots.

"Nothing so noble as that," she echoed his words back to him this time. "I was tired of being given a hard time for being the only virgin in our crowd. It wasn't as if I wasn't curious what all the hype was about. I was. But I knew I didn't want to find out at the hands of some bumbling guy not much older or more experienced than myself." She gave a shrug and a little laugh. "The glasses worked." A smile tugged at his lips as a memory came to mind.

* * *

 _ **"Remember the calc professor?"**_

 _ **"Mm-hmm.".**_

 ** _"The glasses worked."_**

 ** _"Did the trick, did they?"_**

* * *

He'd been bemused… intrigued… when she'd made that admission two years before. The straight laced, never mixing business with pleasure, Laura Holt… seducing her professor. Now? He found it in keeping with who she was: she wouldn't leave that first time up to chance, but would carefully calculate what she wanted from the encounter and how to get it.

"And did he? D _o the trick_ … so to speak?" She laughed a throaty little laugh.

"You could say that," she smiled. "Let's just leave it at: I found the remainder of the semester very… educational." His hands stroked up and down her back again, his blood stirring at the sensation of silk… then skin… beneath his bare hands. Daring to take a chance, he gathered the hem of her shirt in his hands, and eased it up over her head. She lifted her arms willingly, although she noticeably tensed at the action.

"Tutoring has never sounded so… enticing," he hummed.

"I don't think you're his type," came her saucy retort. He barked a laugh.

"I was rather thinking of a _particular_ tutor," he murmured, skimming his hands up her back then sweeping a heavy fall of hair to the side, so that he might brush his lips, whisper soft, against her freckled shoulder, making goosebumps dance across her skin.

"I'm afraid your knowledge in this subject matter already far exceeds my own," she drawled. But she forgot he knew her far better than anyone else, and in just the slumping of her shoulders beneath his hands he recognized her self-confidence taking a dive.

"Do you find that bothersome?" he inquired, his hands working to relieve the tension in her shoulders that had reappeared. She exhaled another puff of air.

"Not bothersome, per se," she answered, elongating each word. "Intimidating, maybe," she admitted, uncomfortably.

"If experience was a positive in your professor's column, why should it be a negative in my own?" he countered, truly perplexed.

"I'm not a nineteen-year-old virgin any longer, to start. I'm _twenty-nine_ and have neither your experience nor the experience of the women you normally favor," she pointed out. He ducked his head forward, to lay his lips near her ear.

"Once favored," he corrected quickly in a low voice, then dropped a kiss on her collarbone. Leaning back, he kneaded his thumbs into her spine, working downward. "You said to start. What else?" She shifted with unease underneath his hands, and wrapped her arms around herself, protectively. "Lau-ra," he drew out her name, "Tell me," he told her, insistently, then brushed his lips over her shoulder while giving her upper arms a gentle squeeze.

"I didn't care what he thought," she finally answered, so quietly he had to lean in to hear her. "He was a means to an end, I never imagined him to be anything more." She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, as she worked up the nerve to say the next. "He didn't matter. You do." He stilled when he believed he finally understood what she was saying, in not so many words.

"Surely you don't mean you think you'll disappoint me?" he exclaimed. She looked back over her shoulder at him, her doleful brown eyes meeting his.

"I think we've already checked off that column, haven't we?"

(TBC)


	7. Chapter 7: Understanding

Chapter 7: Understanding

Remington sat back against the couch heavily, still absently caressing Laura's shoulders, as he digested her admission. _Disappoint me?_ Of everything she might have said, these were likely the last words he expected the normally confident Laura Holt to utter… let alone feel. _Why in the bloody hell….?_ A memory crept in, interrupting the thought.

* * *

 _ **"There was a lot of me too."**_

 _ **"Yes. I saw that. Where do you suppose that Laura's been all this time?"**_

 _ **"Hiding. She already cost me one relationship, couldn't take a chance on her doing it again."**_

* * *

Her striptease act in the winery had come from out of the blue, and watching it, _watching her_ – free of all her normal constraints, impishly teasing a half-dozen men – had been a sight to behold. It had been a truly wonderous surprise to see a side of her that he'd long suspected existed, but until then he'd seen no proof of. In the aftermath, however, she'd been embarrassed, had almost been… waiting for his condemnation, something again at odds with the woman he'd come to know who cared naught of garnering the approval of others, knowing precisely who and what she was… and owning it. Her shyness, her need to apologize, to explain, after that dance, had spoken volumes of the cost she'd paid for her relationship with the uptight banker, Wilson Jeffries.

Having inadvertently walked up upon a conversation between Laura and Jeffries, he'd witnessed with his own ears the man's condemnation of her little display – a display, it should be noted, put on to save his censorious hide.

* * *

 _ **"Laura, I know I asked for your help, I just didn't expect anything like that."**_

 _ **"I never expected you to leave me."**_

 _ **"It just wasn't working out, Laura."**_

 _ **"For whom?"**_

 _ **"Either of us. I like things being organized, regular, predictable. You**_ _**love**_ _ **spontaneity, being reckless, living dangerously."**_

 _ **"I also**_ _**loved**_ _ **you,"**_

* * *

The last words had been said with a devastation he'd, until then, never heard in Laura's voice. He, a man who'd known her for less than a year, who'd been in pursuit of her since first they'd met yet had never come close to being intimate with her, had heard the injury, the confusion, residing in her words. Yet the man who'd once been her lover, had lived with her, had supposedly loved her, had been oblivious to it.

* * *

 _ **Ah, if you don't mind my asking Wilson, umm, when you and Miss Holt were ... ah... umm..."**_

 _ **"Co-habitating?"**_

 _ **"Yes, ah .. was her driving always so uh, exuberant?"**_

 _ **"If anything, it's gotten a little better. But I'm sure you know how she is. Impulsive. Uninhibited. Absurdly passionate. It must get trying for you at times, keeping her in check?"**_

* * *

Not a glimmer of discomfort had the man exhibited, in the wake of his conversation Laura… not a bit of apology resounded in those words. If anything, _he_ looked upon those days fondly, having absolutely no clue of the damages he'd imposed upon her. But perhaps the words that had stayed with Remington were the last: 'keeping her in check." _Keep her in check?_ He had no desire to keep her in check, if anything he wished to remove her shackles, to set her free… to know every morsel of her flights of frivolity, to revel in her passion, to be the target of her _dis_ inhibition… to know all of Laura Holt, not just what she felt safe sharing with the world.

Having revealed her fears, he saw their conversation in Acapulco in a whole new light.

* * *

 _ **"It scared the hell out of me. Don't laugh. I saw what happened to my mother. She was completely, totally consumed by my father. Nothing moved in our house unless it revolved totally around him. When he left her, her life just stopped. No joy, no sorrow, nothing. Not even anger. It was as if he'd taken every bit of feeling she had with him."**_

 _ **"Laura, you're not your mother."**_

 _ **"No. But a part of me could be very easily. That's the part I have to guard against."**_

* * *

He hadn't realized, hadn't put together the clues, as adeptly as she would have done. He'd assumed she'd been speaking in a manner of 'could be's'. Now, as he gave himself a mental kick in the shin, he realized she'd been speaking in terms of what could happen _again._ Wilson had mattered, and had left some part of her broken enough she felt compelled to hide a side of herself from the world. _He,_ Remington, mattered, and therefore had the power to break her as well… even worse, to find her wanting.

It was a powerful revelation, one that made his blood pound, his heart hammer… and made him realize, in an instant, just how badly he wanted to matter to her that much, to know that he was worthy of whatever it had required of her to take the chance he'd keep not find her wanting, not wish to change her… would keep her heart safe.

And then had come last night, and with it the belief he'd found her wanting as she'd always seemed to fear…


	8. Chapter 8: His Dreams

Chapter 8: His Dreams

Remington was ripped from his thoughts when he realized Laura was reaching for her shirt, preparing her escape. A pair of gentle, but firm hands on her shoulders, stilled her.

"Disappoint?" he sputtered, then laughed quietly. "Why is it at any other time you make me work for absolution, yet in this, you pardon me without thought as you wholly indict yourself, hmmmm?" The question made her brows furrow.

"What do you mean?" she asked, baffled.

"I'd like to believe, given my…" he grimaced and licked his lips, finding a return to this particular topic treacherous "…considerable experience… that I'm fairly well-versed in the bedroom, yet I was rendered incapable of undoing a few buttons without your assistance. You're not the only one who allowed their nerves to get them better of them." Unconvinced, she sought to assure him instead.

"You were fine," she assured, lifting her head up when Remington guffawed behind her.

"Fine," he laughed. "Fine. Just the praise every man hopes after a round of lovemaking. Really, Laura," he pretended offense, "That's akin to telling a man the duck he slaved all day over is 'okay.'" She couldn't help the laugh that escaped past her lips, and without thought, she reached up to pat his hand placatingly.

"Don't worry, Mr. Steele. Your duck is _fine_ ," she deadpanned. He barked a surprised, but pleased, laugh.

"Ah, Laura, you are truly a cruel woman to speak of a man's duck in such a fashion." He took her hand in his and gave it a little squeeze, then leaned forward to press his lips to her palm before releasing it.

"Merely encouraging you to aspire to perfection," came her quick quip. He chuckled again before growing serious once more, while drawing his hands down her arms.

"How," he wondered aloud, "Could you possibly compare yourself to the women in my past and ever imagine you might be a disappointment to me, hmmmmm?" The question drew a puff from her lips, but nothing more as she lost the footing just found. "I spent a lifetime never knowing where I'd be next, or with who." He gave his head a shake. "No ties to anyone or anything. I didn't mind. I always liked it like that." He dipped his head, dared to trail a few feathery kisses along her collarbone, his lips lifting in a smile when her back subtly arched. "But that all changed, the day I met you," he added. His strokes changed ever so slightly, moving from comforting to sensuous, muddling her brain.

"For the better?" she breathed.

"Do you have to ask?" He brushed aside her hair, so his lips could blaze a heated path down the long column of her neck, his blood heating when she instinctively tilted her head to give him more access. "I've never stayed so long in one place my entire life, not even as a child. Yet, here I am, near on three years later, still as bewitched by you as I was the day we met."

"It was the challenge," she denied, recalling what she'd said to Bernice years before when she'd been caught daydreaming by her friend and former secretary. "I'm probably the only woman you've ever known who didn't fall right into bed with you."

"Ah, Laura," he said, disapprovingly, "hare the only woman I've ever found worth waiting for, has left me aching with the need to know you are mine, and mine alone." He dared to slide the strap of her teddy over her shoulder, then lavished collarbone and shoulder with kisses, tantalizing flicks of his tongue, light nibbles, as he spoke. "I've never met a woman quite like you. Intelligent, creative, audacious, driven, opinionated, hot-headed, demanding, hard-headed, intractable, fr—"

"You make me sound so appealing," she noted dryly, then gasped when he fastened his mouth at the base of her neck and suckled. She reached back and threaded her finger through his hair, cupping the back of his head, as her chest rose and fell more rapidly.

"Absolutely enticing," he corrected, voice growing gruff, as he moved his lips away from her skin, to trace the freckles on her shoulder with a single finger. She drew in a short breath at the sensation, lay her head back on his shoulder and closed her eyes. "It seems I've dreamt a lifetime of exploring each of these… mesmerizing… spots at my will and leisure," he whispered, his eyes focused with rapt attention upon his finger.

"You have?" she asked, breathlessly.

"Mmmmm, endlessly," he hummed. "May have even vowed a time or ten to count each dapple of color, should you ever allow me access to them, hidden as they are each day by those delightfully prim little outfits of yours." She shivered beneath his finger, arching her back, moving into his touch. How had he failed to remember Laura required distraction to get past her discomfort? That conversation engaged that complicated, often frustrating, brain of hers, and made her forget all her fears, all her rules? Her hand caressing his outer thigh drew him from his thoughts.

"You dream about me?" she prompted, enraptured by the thought.

"You and you alone have been the star of my dreams for years," he confirmed, as he slid his hand down her back to stroke her waist, a smile lifting his lips as he felt her stomach muscles jump beneath his touch.

"Velvet thighs and scarlet lips?" she wondered, visions of Charlotte Knight flashing through her head.

"I've never known you to have scarlet lips," he pointed out. Two fingers turned his face towards him. "The lovey lilt of your voice, your luscious lips," his lips covered hers, to taste, to tease, "Your glimmering eyes," he pressed a kiss to each, "Your enchanting smile," he kissed her again, then thumbed her right cheek, "The dimple that appears only when you are happiest. The spray of freckles over your skin," his lips returned to them, as he caressed the small of her back, "The way you try not to squirm at the touch of my hand, here," drawing a playful slap of her hand against her upper arm. She'd believed she'd well hidden, across the years, her reaction to his touch there. His hand whispered to her waist. "Your gloriously sensitive waist," and caressed, as his lips continued to leave heat in their wake along her shoulder, her jaw, her neck, leaving her breathing threadily. He dared to skim a hand upwards, then palmed a breast. "Your breasts, molding perfectly to the curve of my palm, as though made for me and me alone." A stroke of his thumb over her nipple left the sensitive peak puckering, as she buried her face in his neck and panted from the sensation of it all. "Your hot breath against my neck as you writhe in my arms because I am bringing you exquisite pleasure." He urged her head away from his neck, then kissed her at length. He thumbed her lip when he ended the kiss and examined her eyes with his own. "The look in your eyes that tells me when I've gotten a kiss just right." He dropped his head and inhaled deeply. "Your scent, that reminds me of home and the smell of the fields there after a springtime rain." She laughed softly. "The warmth of your laughter." He kissed her again, then cupped her cheek in his hand, his blue eyes boring into brown ones. "Do you ever dream of me, Laura?" She was held spellbound by the need she saw burning in his eyes. She nodded slowly, keeping her eyes with his.

"I do," she admitted quietly.

"Tell me."

(TBC)


	9. Chapter 9: Her Dreams

_**A/N: NC-17 content ahead. If you are under 18 or uncomfortable with such content, please wait until the story is complete and read the final chapter. ~ RSteele82**_

Chapter 9: Her Dreams

Laura stilled at the words, searching Remington's eyes with hers. The need still resided there, but now there was something new: a plea she knew he'd never voice. Not because he couldn't, but because he wouldn't. He'd never press her for more than she was willing to give. She didn't even realize that she nodded in the second before she pressed up on her knees, turned around, then straddled his lap. Drawing her fingers through his hair, she leaned in to kiss him, her fingers caressing behind his ears, soft as a light breeze. He drew in a sharp breath as their lips made contact, froze, then wrapped an arm around her, lifting the other hand to stroke her neck.

"Lose the shirt…" she whispered, then raising her eyes to his, gave him one of the most precious gifts she had to bestow, "…Remington." He closed his eyes, briefly, as a shudder raced through his body, the simple, unadulterated joy of hearing the name pass her lips, the name he'd tried for three years to earn. He reached for the buttons on his shirt, as she leaned in to kiss him again.

"I dream of your eyes," she told him, pressing a kiss on first one, then the other, "How they change color with your clothes," she scattered kisses along his brow, "With your emotions… How they look at me." She drew her fingers through his hair again, while leaning in to kiss him. "I dream of your hair, how it feels sliding through my fingers," she moved away slightly to brush back to the lock of hair on his forehead, "Of how this lock of hair never stays in place," she trailed kisses over his forehead, as he shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it aside, "Making you less perfect," she frowned, almost baffled by how it was, then added, "…but somehow even more appealing." She sat back in his lap, took one of his hands in hers and traced finger of her other hand over his palm, his fingers. "Your hands. How… gentle," she nodded as if confirming the thought, "they are." Closing her eyes, she drew in a breath, then opening them, caught his gaze. "Of how it would feel to have them, touching me," she breathed, then lay the hand over her breast. The feel of him cupping its sleight weight left her breathless, as a jolt shot through her body to her very core. Instinctively, she ground her hips against him, ripping a moan from his throat, his free hand reaching out to clutch a slim hip as he fought hard for control. With a nip at her lip, she settled her hips so that she nestled against his hardness.

"What else?" he rasped. "What else do you dream of, Laura?" She kissed him again, then nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply.

"How you smell… rich, woodsy," she pressed her lips against his neck, then shifted against erection, pulling another groan from his throat, as she strung kisses and little nips up his neck. "Of your bare skin beneath my hands," she pulled the lobe of his ear into her mouth, to suckle it, "Of my bare skin, beneath yours," she whispered next to his ear, then blew on the wetness, sending chills skittering down his spine. It took a great deal of thought to recognize her invitation, and when he did, his hands moved to free one of her arms, then the other, from the straps of her teddy, before he eased it down her slim frame. Their bodies quaked in unison when his fingers teased the nipple of a bare breast as her hands skimmed over his shoulder, then turned to trek downwards.

She'd forgotten. After more than a year of Wilson's own inhibitions – 'not there', 'don't do that' – she'd simply forgotten the joys of exploring a man's body freely… of leaving him gasping, his hands clutching at her, the oaths muttered as she nursed every bit of pleasure out his body that she could. Remington left nothing to guess work, having absolutely no reticence about letting her know what every touch of her hands, her mouth did to him. His responsiveness only served to fuel her own desire. When she dared to bend forward, to flick the tip of her tongue against his nipple, a heartfelt

"My God, Laura," was torn from his throat.

His hands urged her upwards on her knees, so he might capture a puckered peek in his mouth, as his hands unsnapped, unzipped her khaki's so they could slip beneath the teddy to knead the rounded cheeks of her bottom unimpeded. With a moan of her own, she weaved her fingers through his hair, and clutching at his head, urged it upward, away from her breast. He released her nipple with a soft 'pop', then seized her lips with his own.

"Laura," he mumbled around her lips. Her fingers stopped behind his ears to caress, to tease.

"I want you," she murmured in turn, soothing her hands down his neck, over his shoulders, then raking her nails lightly down his back.

"My bed," he insisted hoarsely, urgently, kissing her a final time before standing. Leaning down he swept her up into his arms. "I want you in my bed," he repeated, gruffly, hungrily exchanging kisses with her as he carried her from the room.


	10. Chapter 10: Drowning

Chapter 10: Drowning

Remington and Laura dispensed with all niceties, once her feet hit the carpeted floor of his room. His hands tugged teddy and pants over her hips, she kicked them away when they dropped to the floor. Her hands frantically released button and zipper of his pants, then with equal urgency worked them over his hips, her eyes fastened below his waist. She'd been so caught up in her own shortcomings the night before, she'd failed to truly examine him thoroughly. Her tongue flicked against her lips, as she watched his erection spring long and proud from his clothing, the look of appreciation on her face making the fire burning in his belly ignite into a raging inferno. Hungrily, she reached for him, clasped him, stroked him, until his legs threatened to buckle beneath him. With a growl, he cupped the back of her head, devoured her lips, as he brushed aside her hand, then turned and fell backwards onto the bed, dragging her up and over his body. Settling her hips against his, laughter bubbled past her lips when he muttered another epitaph as she shifted so his shaft was nestled in the apex of her legs.

A laugh which quickly came to an end when he dragged her head downwards and claimed her lips as his own. One hand cupping the back of her head to keep her near, the other wandered her back, the rounded curve of her bottom, the backs of her thighs. Shocks course through her body, when his tongue slipped inside her mouth to stroke hers, to dance with it, to tease while he lifted his hips to grind his hardness against her already swollen mound in a sensual rhythm. It hadn't taken long, for it was a toxic combination: his taste flooding her senses, his rich smell surrounding her; the movement of his hips, the caresses from his hand. She gasped against his lips, buried her hands in his hair, and ripping her mouth from his, pressed her face into the crook of his neck, crying out when she went up in flames, her small frame shuddering from the power of the orgasm. His hands continued to wander, his hips to move, until she collapsed against him, puffing, panting, her body quivering.

Wrapping an arm around her, he stroked her hair, pressing his lips against the top of her head, losing himself in his thoughts as her body calmed. It was a heady feeling, indeed, he recognized, after their disastrous encounter the night before to know she'd found her pleasure from his body. And that she'd wanted to be as close to him as possible when it had happened? Well, his heart had bloody well nearly burst in that simple action. Another assignation? No, not this. There was no desire to reach the apex of this interlude, to find his pleasure, then be gone with a wink and a smile. Instead, he found himself swamped with emotion, wishing to prolong their lovemaking, not wanting it to ever end. He daydreamed of falling asleep with her in his arms each night, of sleeping each night next to the warmth of her wickedly slim form, of waking each morning to a pair of expressive brown eyes blinking up at him. He wanted…

And then, Laura stirred, pressing up against hands to his shoulders, those very eyes blinking down at him…

(TBC)


	11. Chapter 11: Her Dreams

Chapter 11

It seemed to Remington, that Laura's eyes held his for an eternity before she fully stirred. A pair of fingertips brushed back that stubborn lock of hair again, then she leaned in to kiss him. Slow, lingering, dazzling kisses that he would swear spoke of the words he longed to cross her lips, to be carried by that lovely, lilting voice of hers. His fingers weaved in and out of her hair, along her neck, down her back. He wanted to memorize every nuance of her, every spot on her body that made her gasp… or shiver, that made her lean further into him until her breasts pressed against his chest, that made her rear up and search out his lips again.

When she ended the kiss, leaving his nerve endings quivering, he leaned back to hold her eyes with his again, the plea slipped past his lips, unwittingly.

"Touch me, Laura."

She drew a lip into her mouth to nibble at it, studying him at length before releasing it. A smile began to lift her lips and she nodded slowly, then leaned down to touch her lips to his brow. Her lips left a blazing path over his face, along his jaw, down his neck, along each shoulder, before she slowed to explore his body for the second time on the evening, suckling, nipping, kissing, touching gloriously sensitive spots she'd identified the first time, discovering new areas the second and exploiting them. She lost track of how many times he moaned her name, of how many times his hands clutched at her body, clenched the sheets, how many times his back arched, his hips bucked. She recognized the gift for what it was: He giving her complete control over him as he had, and it was remarkably… freeing.

She paused when her mouth, her hands, reached his hips, having wrung every ounce of pleasure she could out of his hands, his arms, his shoulders, his neck… his torso. She wanted to see his eyes when she took his shaft into her hand, but it wasn't until she shifted to kneel between his legs that eyes closed half-mast flew open… eyes that were nearly silver from desire meeting her limpid brown ones. Only then, her eyes never leaving his, did she take him in hand to ease back the foreskin so she could brush a kiss over the engorged head. His hips, bucked, despite his best attempt to appear the suave and debonair lover he liked to believe he was.

"Laura," he gasped. "You don't have—"

"I've dreamt of doing this… for you," she informed him in a voice that had grown husky with desire.

"As have I," he answered gruffly, the admission passing his lips of its own accord, as his hand reached down to tangle gently in her hair.

Perilously close, already, it hadn't take much to pitch him into oblivion. Her sultry brown eyes returning to his, time-and-time again; the whispering touch of her fingertips along his inner thighs; a gentle squeeze of his sacs by her hand; the perfect combination of long, heated licks, soft nips, the cadence of her mouth moving over his pulsating shaft. He was left, grasping at the sheets as his back arched, his body shook, calling out her name as she swallowed every drop of his essence.

When he at last stilled, those lovely brown eyes met his and she smiled. It was the final act in his undoing, his heart hers, and hers irrevocably… not that it hadn't been for a long, long time.

He sat up, and dragged her body upwards, much as he had when they first landed on the bed. He pressed a hard kiss to her forehead, as she wrapped her body around his and lay her head on his shoulder.

Then they dozed.


	12. Chapter 12: Completion

Chapter 12: Completion

Laura roused first, the warmth of his body, the hair of his chest tickling her cheek and arm, his smell surrounding her, drawing her from her dreams. She kept her eyes closed, afraid at first it was just that: one of the dreams that had haunted her sleep for years. Her fingers sought to confirm this was real, gliding over the rise and fall of his ribs, over his dense-haired chest. But it wasn't until his cheek nuzzled the top of her head, his arm tightened further around her, that she dared to open her eyes, finding him blissfully asleep beneath her.

Carefully, she extracted herself from his embrace, he mumbling unhappily, but remaining lost in his dreams. Slipping from the bed, she walked to the closet, and opening it, fingered through his robes. Even the shortest of them, a royal blue silk, hung to her ankles when she wrapped it around herself. Retrieving her purse from the living room, she closed herself in the bathroom to use the facilities, taking the time to finger brush her teeth and put to use the brush from her purse.

Purse in hand, she crossed the bedroom and opened his bedside table, in search of what they would need when he woke. Her brows lifted in surprise, and she turned to bestow a smile on his sleeping form when she found the drawer devoid of what she sought. It was food for thought, that empty drawer, even more so the brown paper bag in the shave kit he'd left by the front door- the receipt still within. She returned to the bedroom, setting the box of condoms on the bedside table and dropping the robe, she eased her way back onto the bed, then propped on one arm, leaned down and kissed him, allowed her lips to linger until a pair of blue eyes opened and met hers.

He lifted a fall of hair back over her shoulder and cupped her neck with a palm, drawing her lips back to his. Pushing up, he rolled them until she lay on her back, his lean body stretched over hers. Ending the kiss, he stroked her neck with his thumb, and looked down at her with twinkling blue eyes.

"Have something on your mind, Miss Holt?" he hummed, with a sway of his head. With a smile and a lift of her brows, she drew a hand down his back, then caressed a firm cheek of his bottom.

"Surely, we haven't played out _all_ your dreams yet, _Mr. Steele_ ," she replied, drawing out each word in a seductive voice. He kissed her again, teasing her, groaning with contentment when she parted her lips for him. He stroked her tongue with his, in a suggestive rhythm of what was to come, leaving one of her hands clutching at his shoulder, while the other contracted against his hip.

"It could take years to play all those dreams out," he murmured. Shifting atop her, he lowered his head to tease her neck with lips and tongue.

"Years?" she breathed, then drew in a sharp breath when his lips settled at the base of her neck to suckle. "Then maybe we should—" Her thought, and words, ended when he shifted again, to draw the nipple of a breast between his lips.

They were the last words spoken for a long, long time, the silence of the room broken only by the rustle of sheets, quiet sighs, soft cries, and whispered names as he investigated her body as thoroughly as the detective she'd trained him to be. He treasured every sound she made, every arch of her back, the way she writhed beneath him, clutched his shoulders, arms, back and head as he brought her to climax once by hand… and the second? He left her hovering on the edge of oblivion with his mouth latched over the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs while he slipped the pair of long, slim fingers, which had been moving rhythmically within, her out of her body with a mischievous grin.

With a growl, she grasped his head, urging him upwards, as her legs parted in unmistakable invitation. As he held himself poised over her, his lips devouring hers, she reached for the box of condoms, managing to work one free. Tearing her mouth from his, she ripped open the foil packet with her teeth and shoved the condom into his hand.

"Now," she panted.

 _This_. This was the woman he'd dreamt of, daydreamed of, had had hundreds of fantasies of. Passionate, uninhibited, giving and taking equally. But he wanted to slow things down, to savor each and every minute ahead. He leaned down, kissing her languidly, tenderly, until her hands stopped clenching him, flattening out to caress, to stroke his back, his arms. Only then did he roll the condom on, and poise himself at her entrance.

"Laura," he moaned hoarsely, as he pressed forward, burying the pulsating head of his erection within her.

He moved slowly, allowing her muscles to relax until he was buried to the hilt, then established a slow, mesmerizing pace, which, in not too long, she matched with the rise and fall of her hips. When her quiet cries and soft moans grew more frequent, he pushed up on outstretched arms, grinding his hips against her swollen mound with each thrust, until her legs wrapped around his hips, and her short fingernails dug into his arms. He watched as her back arched, her eyes closed, her lips parted… closing his own eyes when she broke, calling out his name. The feeling of her tight passage clenching at his shaft, fluttering around it, as he continued to move his hips was more magnificent than he'd ever imagined.

Before the last shudder passed through her body, he shifted again, and bracing himself on a single elbow to bed, hooked his elbow around the back of one of her knees, drawing her leg up, then leaned down and claimed a puckered peak in his mouth. The chest beneath his mouth rose and fell hard, rapidly, as he nipped at her sensitive nipples, flicked at them with the tip of his tongue, suckled them, as he moved within her. He moaned, arching into her touch, when she took advantage of the position, nipping at his shoulder and collarbone, drawing the skin deep into her mouth to suckle as she drew her nails lightly down his back then kneaded the cheeks of his ass, teased its cleft with deft fingers.

This time when she went up in flames, he went with her, his arms circling around her, keeping her as close as possible, wanting to absorb every ounce of her pleasure as her slim form shuddered and he exploded within her. She was alike in this thought, her short nails of one hand digging into his back while her other hand buried itself in his hair, pulling his head down so she could burrow her face in his neck, breathe in his scent, as she called out his name, then whispered it.

"Laura," he breathed a final time, when, at last, his hips stilled and he collapsed on top of her, trying to catch his breath.

Her fingertips toyed with the damp hair at the back of his neck, whispered over his sweat glistening back. She grimaced when he finally moved his hips, slipping out of her body, then with a kiss dropped on her nose, rolled to his side to discard the condom. She strung a line of kisses along the back of his shoulders, then lay back and rolled to her other side, taking his hand in hers when he spooned around her body and tugged her close. He couldn't help a brush of his lips against her shoulder, neck, from time-to-time, until they fell into well-sated sleep.


	13. Chapter 13: No Questions

Chapter 13: No Questions

Laura's eyes blinked open, and slowly surveyed the street light which bounced off the mirrored doors of Remington's closet. Rolling to her back, she stretched luxuriously then turned to find his side of the bed empty. He watched her wake, from where he sat in a chair across the room by the window, garbed only in a loosely tied robe. He was held spellbound by her graceful form, finding none of the tension, none of the embarrassment of last morning. He waited while her eyes scanned the room, then settled upon him. He'd never recall what it was that she saw – a look in his eyes, a gesture of his hands, or perhaps he'd spoken softly, 'Come here, Laura' - that had her standing and pulling on the robe she'd laid at the end of the bed. She crossed the room to him, and without question, curled up in his lap, her legs swinging over the armrest of the chair.

The silence lingered, but neither of them minded. They stared out at moonlit Hancock Park, enjoying the quiet while stealing glancing touches against a cheek, an arm, a hand. It was his voice that, at last, broke the solitude, as he pressed his cheek against the side of her head.

"I love you, Laura," he whispered, his heart hammering, a small part of him still fearful it might be an emotion not shared. Never moving her head, which still rested on his shoulder, she lay her fingertips against his jaw.

"I love you, too."

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, as she weaved their fingers together, then drew their joined hands up to her chest. Silence again enveloped the room. Neither asked when it was the other knew how they felt nor did they feel the need to question what the future might hold for them. This was enough, for now: being together, understanding the commitment which had just passed between them without ever putting it into words. He merely shifted slightly in the chair, settling her more comfortably against him. Resting his chin on the top of her head, they stared out the window at Hancock Park, thoroughly content in the moment.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Question: If this had actually transpired, how would Laura have reacted to finding Clarissa in Remington's pajama top only two weeks later. Food for thought ;)**_


End file.
